


I Haven’t Got A Fishing Pole

by rhye



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is working on a secret project, and Remus is desperate to know what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Haven’t Got A Fishing Pole

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gone Fishing & Rescue Team](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/5673) by drakanova. 



> Many thanks to brighty18 for the beta! For shaggydog_swap-- a reverse Big Bang. Art by drakanova.

“What is this supposed to be?” Remus asked, flicking the square of parchment back at Sirius.

“Hmm?” Sirius’s eyebrow was arched. Remus didn’t for a minute believe that Sirius didn’t know what he meant.

“I already know you drew it,” Remus answered. “It matches all the doodles you make when you should be taking notes.”

“Oh _this_.” Sirius picked up the folded square of parchment. “Why didn’t you say you meant _this_?”

Remus sighed in exasperation.

“It’s just a doodle.”

“I know that’s supposed to be me.”

“Huh. Which?” Sirius continued to play dumb.

Remus snatched the parchment back and unfolded it. He pointed to a part of the doodle. “And what’s this. A lunch box?”

“If you like,” Sirius shrugged.

“Fine,” Remus huffed. He did not think he would get more out of Sirius right now; no one could out-stubborn Sirius Black. Besides, it wasn’t that important. If Sirius wanted to waste his homework time on doodles, more power to him. It was better than other things he sometimes wasted it on, such as firewhiskey binges.

Remus succeeded in putting the issue out of his mind for several days, at least until the next doodle appeared. He had been moving Sirius’s dirty clothes from the middle of the floor, dumping them on Sirius’s bed, when a bit of parchment fluttered from between the piles of clothes. It contained a second doodle. In the first doodle, Sirius had been astride a frustrated-looking Remus, using a fishing pole to keep something that look suspiciously like a lunch box out of Remus’s reach. In this image, Remus seemed to be following a rescue dog that could only be Padfoot. Remus folded it and tucked it into a pocket, planning to ask Sirius about it later.

Remus didn’t quite get around to asking at dinner, so the parchment remained tucked away in his pocket. He had honestly forgotten about it by the time he put away his homework and looked up to see Sirius flinging his dirty clothes back around the room.

“What are you doing?” Remus asked. “I just picked all of that up this afternoon.”

Sirius pinned him with a stare. “Something’s missing. Did you take something from me?”

Remus stared at Sirius blankly for a moment, sure he had no idea what Sirius meant. Then he suddenly recalled the parchment. “Oh,” he said as he fished the folded paper from his trousers pocket. “Just another of your doodles.”

“Right,” Sirius answered. He crossed the room in two large steps and snatched the parchment away from Remus’s fingers. “Don’t rifle through my stuff, Lupin.” Sirius sounded as though he _really_ meant it. Plus, he rarely called anyone by their surnames unless he was miffed with them.

Remus raised his hands in the universal signal of innocence. “I wouldn’t dream of it, _Black_.”

Sirius lowered his head. He hated being called by his own surname more than anyone Remus knew. “Sorry. Just, my stuff...” Sirius offered feebly.

“No need to apologize,” Remus sighed. “I’m no snoop. It fell out.”

Sirius nodded, and they spoke no more about it.

Nevertheless, Remus’s curiosity had been piqued. Sirius had seemed so blasé about the first doodle, but then so affronted by Remus having seen the second. Remus could not account for it. He began to simply _watch_ Sirius, hoping that would yield some clues.

In fact, it did. When most people had a secret, they guarded it well. Remus knew that better than anyone. Sirius had never been taught this trick. Remus couldn’t imagine how Sirius had grown up in a household like the Blacks’ without learning how to hide things better, but then if Sirius were better at hiding things, he might not have been disowned.

What Remus discovered from watching Sirius was that Sirius seemed to be engaged in some secret project. Remus had to force himself not to snoop through Sirius's things. He tried to instigate James to snoop by mentioning Sirius's odd behavior to James. James had always had some trouble keeping his curiosity to himself. Nevertheless, perhaps because Sirius’s project clearly involved writing and drawing, James simply could not be drawn into Remus’s plans. Remus was beginning to regret his promise to Sirius that he wouldn’t snoop. He wanted to _know_.

Eventually, Remus did resort to less-than-honest methods of sneaking around. When Sirius would leave papers out on his bunk, Remus would walk by and skim them. He never touched or moved a thing; that would clearly be crossing a line. James and Peter would sometimes watch him, James snickering.

“What?” Peter asked one day, turning to James for an explanation of Remus’s behavior and James’s laughter.

“I think Moony is obsessed with finding Sirius’s secret stash of love letters. I’m pretty sure he and Esmerelda Vane have been exchanging them.”

“But she’s in Slytherin!” Peter protested.

James shrugged. “Have you seen her tits?” He continued cleaning his own bunk area-- mostly by sweeping everything from his bed into his trunk.

“I’m going to tell Lily that you wish she was as well-endowed as Esmerelda. See if you can get a date with her then,” Remus huffed.

“You wouldn’t!”

For just a moment, Remus considered using this as a form of blackmail to get James’ cooperation against Sirius, but he knew he couldn’t do something so sinister.

Over the next few days, though, Remus began to notice that James hadn’t been wrong: Sirius was passing something to Esmerelda between classes. This was rather a shock; Sirius was the first to condemn someone simply because they were a Slytherin. He once went without pants because the only clean pair he had was green. Needless to say, Remus’s curiosity was piqued like never before.

Watching closely, he once noticed Esmerelda pass a note back to Sirius, and registered that Sirius tucked it into the pocket of his robe. That night he lingered behind in the dorm as Sirius, James, and Peter went to dinner. Sirius had taken off his robe and thrown is casually on the bed, and Remus sat on his own bunk debating whether to seek out the note or not. Eventually, curiosity beat out honor. He cast a quick alarm on the door of their dorm before slipping over to Sirius’s bunk. His heart was racing as he drew the folded parchment from Sirius’ robe pocket. A blush crept up Remus’s cheeks as he read the content of the note, clearly written in Sirius’ handwriting:

 _“My cock was hard and ready to go. The hard cock under my arse told me that he was ready also. The boy suddenly said to me, ‘Shut up, you cockwhore, and give me your arse.’ He dripped oil down my arse-crack. One of his finegrs entered me. It was brilliant. A second finger joined the first inside of me. I groaned and pushed back. Soon, it was his cock pushing against me, and I opined my arse to him. He groaned as he slipped inside. I came quickly with a long groan. He came a moment later with a soft gasp.”_

Worse, perhaps, than the content of the words itself were the incongruous red markings up the margins made in what was obviously a girl’s pretty handwriting. They were critiques: “You already used this word in the previous sentence”, “I feel like you skipped straight to his part and I’m not sure what happened before this.” A few were even commenting on the spelling errors that Remus was ashamed to admit he had noticed as well. Plus, how many times could people possibly groan during sex? According to Sirius’ missive, quite a few.

Remus didn’t know how to interpret the message in front of him, so instead of interpreting it at all, he hastily folded it back on its previous fold lines and shoved it into Sirius’ robe pocket. He laid the robe across Sirius’ bunk, hoping that he looked just as it had before he’d mussed with it. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he quickly went to find his friends at dinner.

That night, though, as Remus lay in bed, his thoughts kept returning to the note. Had it been autobiographical? Was Sirius involved with someone-- a _male_ someone? Why would he share that with Esmerelda Vane? And why in the name of Merlin’s longest ear-hair would she want to mark that up in red ink like it was some Potions essay that needed grading? Could it be Sirius trying his hand instead at fiction? Was Esmerelda playing the part of an explicit editor for Sirius? Both possibilities seemed equally unlikely, but he could think of no other options.

Only when Remus was on the brink of slumber did he remember why he’d begun to look into this mess in the first place-- Sirius had been making doodles of _him_. Was this raunchy note exchanged with Esmerelda part of the very same project? None of the doodles had been explicit, thank Merlin, but Remus was intrigued to realize he was not offended or disgusted. In fact, he felt a stirring in his pyjamas to think that perhaps Sirius was writing about _him_. He told himself to put the thought from his head; he was no catch, and if Sirius Black was writing explicit content about _anyone_ , it was most likely to be James Potter.

Remus’s subconscious, however, seemed completely unable to drop the idea. Even though Remus doubted that he was the mysterious male protagonist of Sirius’ project, he did find himself aching to know who _was_ , or at the very least to read more.

This last thought troubled Remus most of all. Every time he thought of the rather poorly-penned story, he became aroused. He had never much considered his sexuality, having so much else to consider in his life and generally having an affinity for the gentler sex, but the idea of Sirius, legs splayed, wanton while someone fucked him and called him a cockwhore-- how could anyone not find that arousing? Even if the character in the story was not meant to be Sirius, Remus was helpless to picture anyone else; it had been written in first person in Sirius’s own hand.

He surprised himself when, after a week of tossing off in the showers to the same short scene, he found himself rifling through Sirius’ things. It was the exact thing he’d said he wouldn’t do, but he’d never known a fervent desire quite like this and it clouded his entire thought process. At last, he did find another such piece of parchment, this one buried in the back of Sirius’s Arithmancy text. It read not unlike the other one-- and was equally as poorly-written-- except that it bore no red ink and, more shockingly, the context of this piece was familiar:

 _“He desperately wanted the toy box. He knew what was inside of it-- a collection of fake penis’s. I knew he wanted one inside of him. I would slam it in his arse over and over again, because his hole was as hungry as mine. But I didn’t want to let him get the toy box yet, so I held it out of his reach with my fishing pole. His desperate movements rubbed my cock and I wanted to cum on him right then.”_

The dormitory door slammed open then. Remus cursed himself for forgetting that tiny precaution as he spun, slipping the parchment behind his back. When he saw Sirius enter the room, his heart started hammering harder in his chest. He was sure now that Sirius _was_ writing these things about him. He had seen that doodle with the fishing pole, had recognized himself and Sirius in it without trouble. It had _seemed_ like such an innocent little doodle, but the words he was hiding behind his back brought it new meaning. He even remembered asking Sirius if the box in the doodle was a lunch box. Apparently not. Remus felt his cock hardening.

“Hey...” Sirius had stopped inside the door and was eying Remus warily. Only then did Remus realize he was standing next to Sirius’ bunk. He took a hasty step away and stammered, “I though you and James were, uh, didn’t you have a prank or--”

“McGonagall caught us,” Sirius answered, sounding dejected. “We hadn’t done anything yet, but she knew something was up.”

“Where’s James?”

“Oh, uh, he and Pete are playing chess in the common room. I came up here for--” That was the moment that Sirius’s eyes shifted to his bunk and he must have seen his Arithmancy book open on his bed. His eyes grew wide. “You said you wouldn’t snoop!” Color rose into Sirius’s cheeks.

Remus couldn’t tell if Sirius was embarrassed or angry. “I’m sorry, Sirius,” Remus answered quickly. “I didn’t...” What could he say? That he hadn’t meant to? Oh, but he most certainly _had_. Instead, Remus heard himself say, “I’m not angry at you. I know this is about me but... I’m _not_! I...” He produced the parchment from behind his back. “I do think your writing skills leave a bit to be desired but--”

Sirius turned even redder. “Esmerelda--”

“Oh yes, that,” Remus answered sharply. He didn’t like the idea of Esmerelda reading this filth about himself and Sirius. He certainly couldn’t claim to mind it being written, as here he was seeking it out and planning to toss off to it, but Esmerelda Vane was a complete stranger.

“I never told her!” Sirius insisted. “I never used any names. She was just helping me.”

“Why are you writing this anyway?” Remus asked.

“I... don’t know.” Sirius suddenly sounded feeble and desperate. “It’s just a story. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a fantasy. I know it’ll never happen. I didn’t mean to drag you in--”

“Never?” Remus asked, his eyebrow arching. “I have to admit I’m disappointed. I haven’t got a fishing pole...” He handed the parchment back to Sirius, “but I wouldn’t mind, um, well.” Remus found himself blushing now. He wished he could be half as assertive in real life as he seemed to have been in the first bit of story he had found.

Silence hung in the air between them for a very long time, but then Sirius’s face lit up like a Christmas Tree strung with a million fairy lights. He started replying, “Are you... I mean...”

Remus drew a deep breath and tried to remember the line he had wanked to all week. He ignored the trembling in his own voice as he said the magic words: “Shut up, you cockwhore, and give me your arse.”


End file.
